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My husband is bald. Elegantly, handsomely bald. This has been a fact of his life, and mine, for more than ten years. It snuck up on him when he was in mid-thirties and completely overtook him by the time he was forty. That’s when I gave him a buzz clipper for his birthday. His face fell so far he looked like a Dali. I pictured a kind of ‘Out of Africa’ hair-washing scene with me in the Robert Redford role (damn it). David saw a ‘Mommy Dearest’ Bon Ami moment (No more silly comb overs!). After he’d buzzed it off with a number 3 blade–just a hint of spikiness, not a ‘do’ per se but not an invalid-ish hairless-ness–he never went back.